Page 73 of Rules for Ruin

And because Gabriel couldn’t leave her alone.

He stared straight ahead, his mood darkening by the second. The crowd around them increased in size, the people growing raucous and impatient. It must be nearing nine o’clock. Gabriel was reaching for his pocket watch to confirm the time when a portly gentleman in garish plaid trousers and a velvet top hat came out to address them.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the man announced in a booming voice that carried over the assembled throng. “Esteemed guests! You are about to witness a feat so daring, so extraordinary, that it defies belief. A rare and astonishing act performed by a man whose name is spoken with reverence all across our great realm. I present to you the renowned wire dancer himself, magician of the rope and acclaimed Italian ascensionist, the one and only, Carlo Galezzo!”

A small dark-haired man bounded out onto the green. He was dressed in a pair of garish gold-embroidered red silk trunks, worn over a full body leotard. Not more than one and twenty if he was a day, he sketched flamboyant bows to his audience in every direction before gracefully climbing the ladder attached to the wooden platform by the elms.

When he reached the top, he stepped to the edge of the platform. The thin cable stretched ahead of him. Lanterns had been positioned at various angles beneath it to illuminate his progress. The crowd collectively held its breath as he extended his leg and set his foot on the wire.

Gabriel heard Effie inhale sharply. Glancing down at her, he found her pale and still, staring up at Galezzo with a rapt, vaguely terrified expression. Gabriel’s brows sank in a frown. She’d owned to being afraid of heights. Did that fear extend to seeing others in high places? He suspected it did.

The little fool. Hadn’t she realized the effect Galezzo’s performance might have on her?

But it was too late for Gabriel to draw her away from the spectacle. They were boxed in on three sides, the full force of the crowd pressing against them as Galezzo took his first steps out onto the wire.

He swayed back and forth, drawing gasps from the crowd, but he didn’t falter. Knees bent and eyes fixed straight in front of him, he placed his right foot at an angle directly in front of his left, advancing slowly but surely to the midpoint of the wire.

A hum of amazement passed over the audience. There were more gasps and whispers, along with a few murmured prayers for the wire dancer’s safety.

Effie’s hand crept into Gabriel’s. She was still staring at Galezzo, seemingly unaware that she’d reached out to Gabriel for reassurance.

But Gabriel wasn’t unaware. His chest tightened as his fingers engulfed hers.

He was still going to rid himself of his attraction to her, but not now. Not yet. In this moment, Effie was in his care. Vexing as she was, Gabriel didn’t take the charge of her lightly.

“How does he do it?” Miss Compton whispered to Lord Mannering. “Why doesn’t he fall?”

“He never falls,” Lord Mannering said under his breath. “The man’s a marvel.”

Galezzo continued across the wire, grinning broadly. He seemed to draw confidence from the astounded murmurs. He’d just reached the opposite side, and was preparing to retrace his steps backward, when the iron hook that secured the cable to the tree gave an ominous screech.

Time stood still—hundreds of people frozen to the spot, looking up with matching expressions of horror. Effie’s hand clenched Gabriel’s spasmodically as a woman’s shrill cry pierced the silence. The man in the plaid trousers sprinted to the platform in company with several workmen. But it was all too late.

Metal scraped against metal as the hook broke free of its chain moorings.

Galezzo’s face betrayed a split second of dismay before the wire slackened under his feet and he plummeted forty feet to the ground, landing on the gravel promenade.

Screams rent the air, and the crowd rushed forward. Gabriel pulled Effie in front of him, shielding her with his body. Someone shoved him hard in the back, and another nearly trampled over Miss Compton. She appeared to have fainted dead away on the grass. Beside her, Miss Mannering turned an odd shade of green before sinking down into her skirts. Powell staggered, white-faced, to help her, looking as though he might be sick himself.

People were crying and shouting on every side, their attentions scattered between the surfeit of collapsing ladies and the broken and bleeding body of the lifeless Galezzo.

“Somebody help him!” a man cried.

“A doctor! Is anyone a doctor?” another called out.

“I’m a doctor!” someone replied. “Out of my way!”

Effie’s knees buckled. Gabriel swept her up into his arms before she could fall. He had a vague impression of Mannering and Powell crouched down, tending to Miss Compton and Miss Mannering. Gabriel didn’t pause to inquire after the ladies’ welfare. He was thinking of only one lady.

“Is Galezzo dead?” someone cried out amid the shouts and screams.

“If he isn’t, he soon will be,” an unhelpful male voice replied. “He’s broken his head.”

Effie moaned softly. “Oh God.”

“Don’t look.” Gabriel pressed her face into the curve of his neck. Turning from the gruesome scene, he carried her away, shouldering a path for them back through the crowd.

“I saw him fall. I saw his face—”